


Your Wish

by insufficientemotionalfunds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apparently mind control is another of my weird not-so-secret loves, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post 8.19 Taxi Driver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insufficientemotionalfunds/pseuds/insufficientemotionalfunds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Is My Command</p><p>Takes place post 8.19 (A bit of canon-divergence, but nothing too crazy)</p><p>Naomi's new strategy for dealing with the problem that is Dean Winchester is a simple one: kill it with kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Wish

Dean was exhausted. Like, _literally_ exhausted— not the metaphorical exhaustion he'd been battling since somewhere around the age of five. So exhausted that he didn't even remember driving back to the motel and collapsing face-first onto the room's sole stale-smelling mattress and falling away from the world. _So_ exhausted, in fact, that he couldn't even really bring himself to care when his finely-honed hunter instincts prodded him out of a deep sleep and directed his groggy attention to the second body sliding into place against his back like it belonged there.  
  
He yawned, shuffling back into the welcome heat as gentle arms gathered him close and a soft kiss brushed against the nape of his neck. "Hnmm," he mumbled, sleepily tracing one forearm in search of fingers to weave through his own, "Cas...?"  
  
"I'm here, Dean," came the quiet reply, rumbled into his throat, "I'll still be here in the morning, I promise. Go back to sleep, beloved."  
  
"Mmrumph 'kay." And he did.  
  
  
Strangely enough, Castiel _was_ still there when Dean woke.  
  
He spent the first groggy moment of consciousness watching his own thumb lightly run the length of Castiel's knuckles before the rational thought he'd abandoned sometime the night before somehow found its way back to him with a vengeance. "Cas," he rasped, staring at their hands entwined on the rumpled sheet in front of him and wondering when the fuck he'd tripped into yet another alternate reality. From somewhere far off, his cell phone was shrieking for his attention, but the angel wrapped around him like a second skin was far more—um— _pressing_. "What the fuck're you doin'?"  
  
The burning heat lining his back shifted as Castiel raised his head and then laid it meticulously against Dean's, pressing their cheeks together and joining Dean in his study of their hands. "I've come home," he said simply, twisting the arm that had been wedged under the hunter's shoulders up and around to brush his fingers through golden-brown hair.  
  
Dean had to consciously push down the knee-jerk reaction to pull away from that too-sweet, too-perfect touch and fill the space between them with the familiar posturing from years past. He pushed it down because this was _Cas,_ and they'd both known for quite a while now that this was where they were headed— and he'd be damned if he was gonna deny it after how hard he'd been fighting to finally get through to the stupid asshole... but... _jeez,_ a little warning would've been nice? "Yeah, okay," he grunted, straining to catch a glimpse of Castiel out of the corner of his eye as he fuckin' _nuzzled_ Dean's cheek, their stubble scraping uncomfortably. "That's great— _really_. But you should really warn a guy before you mojo into his bed."  
  
He almost went cross-eyed as he watched a pink sliver of tongue slip out to wet the lips that were less than two inches from his own. _Fuck._ This was a goddamned dream, wasn't it? What the hell?  
  
 Castiel drew back uncertainly, slowly disentangling himself from Dean and sitting up. He furrowed his brow, watching as Dean scrambled around to face him. "Should I go?"  
  
"What? _No._ Shit, that's not—" Dean barely noticed the tiny ping of shock when his grasping hand met soft dress shirt instead of crisp over coat. "Don't you dare, you dickhead. It's about goddamn _time_ you answered me." He glowered and Castiel had the good sense to avert his gaze, chastened. When a moment had passed and he was still there, sitting awkwardly in a nest of sheets, Dean let out a noisy breath of relief and finally rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the hand not tethering his wayward angel to his side. "Where've you been?" he asked tiredly.  
  
Castiel frowned down at the mattress. "Does it matter? I'm here now."  
  
 _"'Does it—?'"_ Dean barked an incredulous laugh. "Nah, Cas, it's _all good_. 's not like the last time you went AWOL you were bein' reprogrammed into a Terminator or anything. No reason for me to be worried, right?" Blue eyes darted anxiously to his face and then away and he sighed. "Hey, man. Look—" He ducked his head, searching out Castiel's gaze again. "I'm glad you're here, I am. It's just... you scrammed real fast back at the crypt. I didn't really expect—" _to get you back without a fight._  
  
"I'm sorry," Castiel said quietly, meeting Dean's eyes insistently, "I was... not myself."  
  
Dean allowed the hand clenched in the sleeve of Castiel's shirt to slacken, sliding down the length of his arm to curl warmly around the angel's wrist. "Yeah, I got that." They stared at each other for a long moment. "So—" Dean cleared his throat. "You're back. That mean you stashed the tablet somewhere? Not gonna lie, I kinda figured that you bein' all _Keeper of the Word_ would be... I dunno, a little more hands-on?"  
  
Castiel's eyes dropped to watch Dean's thumb in its new and rather embarrassing habit of stroking whatever bit of angelic skin happened to be near it. "The tablet is safe," he replied, "I _stashed_ it shortly after I left you."  
  
Something unpleasant twisted in Dean's gut as he thought that over. "Uh. _How_ shortly?"  
  
"A week."  
  
Dean tried to be calm— really, he did. He made a _valiant_ attempt. But _what the fuck!?_ This had to be some hilarious fucking cosmic _joke_. He'd chased after that goddamned stubborn asshole across the entirety of _Purgatory..._ opened up to him like he didn't do for anyone but _Sam..._ lost him time and time again... prayed to him— _begged_ him to just be safe, to come home, to come _back to him..._. He took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes, hand jerking away from Castiel as if burned. "And then just... _what_ , spent the next month _sight-seeing?"_  
  
Castiel frowned, looking more offended than he had any damn right to. "Of course n—"  
  
Dean's cell phone chose that moment to continue its plea for his attention. The familiar guitar riff screeched at him from the bedside table and he was so angry... so irritated and frustrated—and, yeah, fucking _hurt_ , okay?—that he turned his back on the son of a bitch he should maybe reevaluate calling his best friend to grab it. He stared down at the dark, unresponsive screen for a second in confusion, listening to the ringtone continue without any visual response from the actual phone. He glanced uncertainly at Castiel out of habit, tapping the button to open up the missed call log right as the display finally lit up and the wailing guitar returned with a vengeance. _"Jesus!"_ he grunted, startled, and fumbled the phone for a second before the sight of Sam's name on the caller ID yanked his head back into the game.  
  
He answered with a worried, "Sammy? What's up?" and slid to the edge of the bed, searching for his jeans because his baby brother was on strict house arrest and if he was calling outside of their prearranged daily updates— "You okay?"  
  
 _"Dean,"_ Sam breathed over the line, and the shock in his voice sent Dean scrambling for the rest of his clothes in a panic, _"Dean, I_ — _"  
  
_ "Hold tight, man," Dean growled, snatching up his keys and heading for the door without so much as a glance at the unmoving figure on the bed. "I'll be right there. Whatever's wrong—"  
  
 _"No, it's.... Dean! That's just **it**. I_ _—"_ And the shock evened out into total awe and Dean paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. _"I'm_ **fine.** "  
  
Dean frowned, arm dropping to his side. "Huh? Then why—?"  
  
 _"No, dude, listen. I'm fine. Like_ — _perfect-bill-of-health- **fine**."  
  
_ A flash of lightheadedness rushed him and he slumped against the door disbelievingly. "Sam, if you're fuckin' with me—"  
  
 _"I'm not!"_ Sam insisted vehemently. _"Seriously. Look. I have no idea how, but_ _— okay, last night was... **bad**. Lots of blood and I couldn't even get out of bed to find my phone, and I thought I must've been hallucinating, 'cause I saw...."  
  
_ Dean swallowed. "'Saw...?'"  
  
 _"I thought I saw Cas,"_ Sam bit out really fast, like he was trying to dull the blow of the name. Dean's breath hitched anyway, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably as he slowly turned to search out the familiar blue eyes focused on him with laser-intensity. _"I figured it was a fever dream or something, but... but when I woke up this morning_ — _"  
  
_ "You were... fine," Dean finished for him slowly, meeting Castiel's gaze.  
  
 _"Yeah. There's some sort of sigil stamped across my throat... it looks Enochian_ — _I haven't translated it yet, but_ — _"  
  
_ "Hey, Sammy?" Dean interrupted breathily, taking a shaky, involuntary step back toward the bed. "Get some sleep, okay? You might be good as new but you still _sound_ like microwaved death. I'll call you before I head out. We'll be home sometime late tonight." He didn't even notice the _we_.  
  
 _"Okay,"_ Sam sighed, and he really did sound exhausted, poor bastard, _"Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you later."_  
  
"Okay."  
  
Dean was just about to end the call when Sam slipped in a quick, _"Hey, say thanks to Cas for me."_  
  
He paused at the implication, raking his gaze over the angel still patiently watching him from the edge of the bed. "Yeah," he rasped out in place of his customary knee-jerk denial, before hanging up and tossing the phone onto the table beside the door.  
  
"Dean...." Castiel began slowly.  
  
 The hunter crossed the room in a few quick strides and didn't even let himself stop to think before he grabbed Castiel's face roughly in both hands and kissed him.  
  
Castiel made a startled sound that quickly transitioned into a low hum of pleasure, his own hands scrambling at Dean's shoulders before sliding up to cup the sides of his neck. Dean pushed forward, climbing up over the angel and pressing him down into the bed, licking his mouth open insistently. Castiel moaned his approval as the hunter's weight settled over him, fingers sliding up across the back of Dean's skull and drawing him closer.  
  
A moment later, Dean broke away just enough to pant, "You... you awesome son of a _bitch_. You fixed my brother," into the corner of Castiel's lips, who pressed a slow kiss to his jaw, but didn't reply. "Thought you said he was 'beyond your power to heal?'" Dean brushed his thumb lightly over the delicate skin just below one blue eye questioningly.  
  
"I spent a bit more time researching than _sight-seeing,"_ Castiel whispered against his throat.  
  
The relieved, half-broken laugh Dean let out sounded a little closer to a sob than he would ever care to admit and he quickly hid it away from the world in the warm safety of his angel's mouth. Castiel pulled him as close as he could get with clothes and skin and muscle and other such irritants in the way, sucking at his tongue like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.  
  
"Sam says 'thanks,' by the way," Dean grunted, propping himself up on one elbow and dragging at the knot in Castiel's tie.  
  
There was a tiny spark of humor in blue eyes as the tie slithered out from under his collar. "I hope this isn't _his_ way of showing it," he joked weakly.  
  
Dean smirked as he started working on the buttons of Castiel's dress shirt. "Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart. Kiss-o-grams—" He kissed the point of his chin. "—aren't really—" Nipped down the column of his neck. "—Sammy's style." Licked at the hollow of his throat. "This is how _Dean_ Winchester says 'thank you.'"  
  
Castiel smiled, and Dean was a bit surprised at just how much relief was written in the expression.  
  
"Hey," he said gently, pausing on the last button to raise one hand and cup Castiel's cheek, "you know that's not all this is, right?"  
  
The angel swallowed. "Of course, Dean," he hastened to reassure him, not sounding very reassuring.  
  
Dean frowned. "Cas—"  
  
The phone broke into its guitar riffs once more and Dean glared at it over his shoulder for a frustrated moment. When it didn't cut off, he sighed, knocking his head irately against Castiel's collarbone before heaving himself up and striding stiffly across the room. He glared down at the screen, a vague sense of unease twisting in his gut at the blank display. Picking it up, he examined it carefully, turning it off and back on curiously.  
  
"Dean?" Castiel's voice asked from behind him.  
  
Frowning, he strode back over to the bedside, setting the cell down on the table and returning his attention to the angel. "Sorry," he muttered, crawling back onto the bed, "Coulda been Sam. Y'know." He threw one last confused look at where the phone lay innocently next to the lamp, before shaking his head and swinging one leg purposefully over Castiel until he was straddling his hips. "Anyway," he said determinedly, cocking an eyebrow down at him, "Time to air out the closets, alright? Listen up. How many times does a guy have to say _'I need you,'_ before it gets through this thick skull of yours, huh?" He tapped sarcastically at Castiel's forehead. The angel grimaced more out of irritation than anything, frowning at him. "We've spent too damn long avoiding this, you hear me?"  
  
"Dean...." Castiel started, exasperated.  
  
"You need a translation here, Feathers?" Dean blanketed himself over him, propped once more on his elbows with his nose brushing Castiel's at every breath. Licking his lips hesitantly, Dean looked him right in the eye and once more took a leap of faith. "I love you, you moron."  
  
Castiel seemed to soften in reply, going a bit hazy around the edges as he reached up and pulled Dean into a slow, lingering kiss. "I love you, too," he whispered, pushing gently but insistently at Dean until the hunter complied and rolled to the side so that Castiel could crawl over him instead, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
 _"Yeah,_ Cas...." Dean moaned appreciatively, his hands sliding up Castiel's stomach as the angel peppered his face with light kisses.  
  
"I love you," Castiel repeated emphatically, "I'm never going to leave you again."  
  
Dean chuckled weakly. "Big talk, babe. You gonna walk the walk?"  
  
Castiel drew back with a confused scrunch of his nose, but just as he was about to answer—  
  
"God _damnit!"_ Dean snarled, scrabbling for the side table as the phone started screeching again. Castiel slid to the side accommodatingly as Dean punched the answer button even though there wasn't an incoming call. _"What!?"_  
  
The dial tone answered him and he growled in confused frustration before furiously turning the damn thing off and slamming it back onto the table.  
  
He was reaching for Castiel, trying to shake off a growing sense of unease, when it fucking _started ringing again._ Freezing, he stared at the black display, before shakily reaching for it once more. He glanced at Castiel, mirroring the angel's suspicious frown as he held the phone to his ear again. "Hello."  
  
 _"Dean?"  
  
_ He bit back a curse in shock, yanking the phone away to give it an incredulous once over. "Wha... _Kevin?"_ he asked slowly.  
  
 _"Yeah! Hey."  
  
_ "Dude, where _are_ you?" Dean frowned uncertainly because _what the hell?_ He felt stupidly thankful when Castiel's arms wormed their way around his waist and a stubbled chin dropped to perch on his shoulder.  
  
 _"I'm_ — _Dean, I'm on my way home!"_ Kevin said excitedly.  
  
 _"What?"_ He felt cold dread drop into his stomach like a ten-ton weight. "Kevin, that's suicide, you can't—"  
  
 _"No, it's not!"_ the prophet crowed happily, _"I finished the translation! I just got off the phone with Sam and he's already working on the third trial. You'll never believe how easy it is, Dean, it's_ — _"  
  
_ Dean tuned him out. As so often happened in the life of a Winchester, the dread had come hand-in-hand with a healthy dose of realization and he felt himself go numb except for the burning awareness of Castiel pressed against his back.  
  
 _"Why aren't you saying anything, Dean?"_ Kevin rambled distantly as the phone dropped away from his ear. _"You should be happy! This is exactly what you_ — _"_  
  
"—Wanted," Dean mumbled dully.  
  
The solo case Dean had been working as a distraction from his lost friend, missing angel, and dying brother was slowly seeping back into his awareness. The string of disappearances— no bodies recovered, no suspicious or obviously demonic activity... the vics just disappeared within the same two-mile radius centering on a block of abandoned warehouses. He'd been starting to lean toward missing people just going missing for all the normal reasons, when—  
  
"It was the kindest way, Dean."  
  
He jolted, springing away from Castiel and halfway across the room. Whirling, he stared wide-eyed at the figure that had appeared on the other side of the room. After a moment, the shock wore off and the rage set in. _"Naomi,"_ he snarled.  
  
The angel smiled sadly, clasping her hands diplomatically together in front of her. "We had hoped that it could be believable enough that you wouldn't suspect." She sighed unhappily, gesturing to Castiel. "Unfortunately, it seems that our agent didn't take into account an irritated brother and a ringing cell phone in your pocket." She shook her head deprecatingly. "The downfalls of subcontracting, I suppose. The serum attempted to translate the noise, but obviously the delay was enough to—"  
  
"Your _agent?"_ Dean repeated dully, "You— you _hired_ a fucking _djinn_ to—"  
  
"To keep you out of the way, Dean," she interrupted, sighing quietly to herself, "You have no part in this war... not this time. You're nothing but a distraction to Sam, a temptation to Castiel, a _hindrance_ to Heaven...." She threw out her arms, fixing him with pleading eyes. "Don't you _see..._ this is for the best?"  
  
"Not really, no," he spat, "You seemed to think we could be pals last time we talked."  
  
"Yes, well, the game has changed. We're running out of time and I can't have you meddling—"  
  
"So you quietly take me out behind the shed and pull the trigger." He sneered.  
  
"But _kindly,"_ Naomi reminded him with a sickly-sweet smile, "You can have everything the real world can't offer you here, Dean; your brother's health, Kevin Tran's freedom, Castiel's... _love_...." Her pleasant facade broke for a split second around the word, like it was a foul taste in her mouth, and her eyes darted to the Castiel look-a-like in disgust. "Anything you want. Your father, mother... Robert Singer... your vampire friend.... You can die _happily,_ Dean, surrounded by all the things you desire most. A death deserved by a hero."  
  
Dean ducked his head, grinning darkly. "Maybe. But I'm not quite ready to punch out yet. I still got people who need me and—"  
  
"Oh, Dean," she said softly, like it pained her to say it, the conniving bitch, "You don't have to lie to me."  
  
"What the fuck're you—?"  
  
"Think about what you're saying, beloved," a third voice contributed, and Dean felt his heart sink when his dream-Castiel reappeared where Dean apparently wanted him most, wrapped around him from behind as though he could shelter him from the world with invisible wings.  
  
"Oh, so you're in on this, too, now, huh?" he bit sarcastically at him over his shoulder.  
  
Blue eyes gazed at him sadly. "I only have your best interest at heart, Dean," fake-Castiel simpered, "So, please, just think about this. Sam doesn't need you." There really was nothing quite like the person you love spelling out your worst fears so bluntly. Dean gritted his teeth, wrenching his head away and trying to pull out of Castiel's arms. "He was happy when you were in Purgatory... he was finally able to hang up the hunter and live the normal life he'd always wanted. You're only keeping him away from what he wants." Warm hands soothed down Dean's chest. " _I_ can barely even stand to be around you. I run away from you every chance I get. You're just holding me back, Dean." He kissed the back of Dean's neck sweetly. "And as for Kevin—"  
  
 _"Yeah_ , think I got it, thanks," he grunted bitterly, twisting out of his fantasy's arms and putting the bed between them.  
  
Naomi pursed her lips, glowering at the fake Castiel. "The _point is,_ Dean, that all this may be true in the waking world, but _here_ it's you who runs the show. No, truly," she insisted when Dan scoffed, "Anything and everything you could possibly want. You, more than anybody, know how the djinn's reality works. You only have to think about whatever you desire and—"  
  
 _"Snap,"_ Dean interjected with mock-wonder, clicking his fingers, "Just like that... Miss October feedin' me pie, Miss August handin' me a beer... 'round the clock Dr. Sexy marathons on NBC and Star Wars nonstop on SyFy." He rolled his eyes with a huff. "Kevin gets into Harvard, Charlie butts outta hunting and settles down with her laptop like a good little hacker." He swallowed, feeling his shoulders losing tension as his crossed arms dropped under the weight of realization and understanding. "Cas... moves into the bunker and spends entire days nerding over the library with Sam... whose biggest problem is which boring old textbook to read first...."  
  
"See?" Naomi prodded gently, her eyes narrowing with a conniving glint as she took a small step forward. "It's what you _deserve_ , Dean. You've done enough. You could be so happy. Let _us_ handle the war... and _you_ can live out the life you've always wanted here."  
  
A weak guitar riff pulled Dean's attention to the phone buzzing uselessly against the comforter on the bed. "Yeah, tucked away in my own hand-tailored Stepford... and in reality, I'm dead in a couple days... Sammy's all on his own and Cas's still... 'in the wind....'" It was a weak protest and they both knew it. She was right, who was he even kidding? Sam could finish up the trials by himself... faster, probably, without Dean there to hold him back... and then he could work his way down to Texas... see that Amelia hadn't quite moved on.... Cas could focus all his attention on the tablet without Dean's voice nagging at him in the back of his head... maybe it would help him fix Heaven after all... reboot the whole damn system and then he could settle back into his extra-fluffy cloud and spend the rest of eternity not worrying about what shit show that asshole Dean Winchester was going to drag him into next.  
  
The phone faded unobtrusively into silence. Dean wondered how long it would keep ringing. Would the sound finally catch someone's attention and lead them to his body? Would he be stone cold when they found him, or would he pull the ol' Winchester bounce-back just out of spite? (Did he even _want_ to?) Would they have the decency to call the _Sam_ whose so many calls had been missed to let him know that his good-for-nothing brother was never gonna pick up again? (How guilty would Sam feel when his relief outweighed his grief?) How long would Cas go, wrapped up in free will and rebellion and his self-appointed mission before he found out that someone else had finished the job he'd started in that crypt? Would he even fucking care, or was Dean so far off his radar... barely the tiniest of blips in his long existence—

What was that old saying...? _If you love something, set it free. If it comes back—_ Well. Why would it? Who in their right mind would choose Dean Winchester?  
  
"He'll stop calling eventually," Naomi supplied kindly, hammering in the final nail.  
  
Dean glanced up at her, watched the light of understanding play in her too-gentle eyes, and couldn't dredge up the strength, let alone the belief, to negate her. Because of course he would. Sam didn't need him... didn't even _want_ him. And why would he? Better to let him— _them—_ go....  
  
"No," Castiel suddenly spoke up from somewhere behind him, "He won't." There was an almost audible crack and the dream world seemed to brighten, color saturating the walls, the dingy carpet... even the understated lipstick of Naomi's vessel seemed the tiniest bit more vibrant.  
  
Dean blinked groggily, confused, and frowned in uncertainty as he turned to look at the angel over his shoulder.  
  
Dean's dream of Castiel had reshaped itself into something more like the reality; he stood tall and rigid in full Angel of the Lord regalia, trenchcoat rustling as his fist clenched furiously around the blade in his right hand. He tipped his chin up haughtily, meeting Naomi's startled gaze.  
  
"Sam would _never_ stop, Dean," Castiel continued, sparing a quick glance for Dean before an enraged noise from Naomi reclaimed his attention. His eyes narrowed, the air around him crackling with his presence as he stared her down. _"Neither_ of us would," he finished with a growl.  
  
 _"Castiel,"_ Naomi hissed in outrage, making an aborted lunge in his direction.  
  
Before Dean could even start to work out what was going on—how Cas was really there... _why_ Cas was really there... what the fuck Naomi thought she was going to do to him in _Dean's head—_ Castiel had moved across the fantasy-scape of the motel room and pressed two fingers harshly to the center of his forehead. His head snapped back and—  
  
Dean jerked awake to a stinging pain and a flash of light accompanied by a gurgling shriek of pain. He struggled against the manacles circling his wrists for a second before a spike of pain directed his panic to the IV protruding from his forearm. His stomach roiled at the fleshy thump of something hitting the ground hard beyond his blurry line of sight. Then, there was a quiet scuff of sensible shoes shifting on concrete and a hazy blob of tan was bearing down on him where he was crumpled weakly against the wall.

"C-Cas!?" he choked desperately, clawing at the IV. Gentle hands deftly batted his fumbling fingers away from the needle and he grunted at the uncomfortable pinch of it sliding out of his skin. "Cas..." he tried again as those hands darted succinctly over the rest of him looking for any further injury.  
  
"Shh," Castiel soothed after a short, clinical search of his person, and Dean instinctively shut up as the world blurred around them.

He found himself deposited against the cool metal of his car and blinking hazily at the sunken door of the bunker. In his jerky attempt to straighten up from his slouch against the door, he only managed to tangle himself up in his duffel where it had landed at his feet and stumble dizzily. "Wha—?"  
  
The blur of an angel in his periphery reached out to steady him, and warmth trailed in the wake of the hand caressing slowly down the length of his arm. "No more solo hunts for now, Dean." Castiel's familiar rumble soothed the wild panic still ricocheting through his system and he slumped tiredly. "Okay?"  
  
"I—"  
  
"I have to go... I can't stay in one place too long, but... Dean, please—" Warm hands cupped his face, tilting it up until he found himself blinking drowsily at the eyes he now realized his dream hadn't been able to do justice. "Don't let her poison get to you."  
  
"Cas...." There was a shift, a dip in the pressure around them and Dean flailed for a handful of trench coat. "Wait— _Cas—!"_  
  
And then the familiar displacement of air ruffled his hair as Castiel took flight and Dean was left staring stupidly at the unobtrusive bulk of the bunker looming out of the hillside. Son of a _bitch_ , not again.  
  
After a dazed moment, the wail of a guitar sent him groping for the phone still tucked away in his pocket and he made an irritated mental note to change the fucking ringtone. "Hey," he grunted distractedly once he'd fumbled it up to his ear.  
  
 _"Oh, thank god!"_ Sam half-shrieked, _"I've been calling you for **hours** , you asshole! You didn't check in and I thought—"  
  
_Dean wasn't really paying attention, groping blindly for the bag at his feet and straightening up with a displeased grunt as his abused body reluctantly took on its full weight, creaking in protest.  
  
 _"—no more of this dumbass house arrest crap! I'm **fine** and I'm coming whether you like it or not—"  
  
_He only stumbled once as he made his way slowly off the road and carefully navigated the stairwell down toward the door, absently wondering how Cas knew where the bunker even was.  
  
 _"—so fucking worried I even shot Cas a few prayers... not that he answered, the fucker, but—"  
  
_ At that, a slow curl of warmth worked its way carefully through the eddying swirls of panic and confusion left over from the unpleasant end to his hunt. He felt oddly calm, relaxed even, which couldn't be anywhere close to normal after a near-death experience. Weirdly, he kind of wanted to take a bath. "Yeah, he did."  
  
 _"—Wait. What?"_  
  
Dean yanked the door open and heard the clatter of Sam dropping his phone in surprise echo through the speaker just a split second after he saw it hit the floor of the war room below him.

**Author's Note:**

> More drabbles 'n' stuff on [my tumblr](http://insufficientemotionalfunds.tumblr.com)
> 
> So, I started this a couple days after 8.19 with no knowledge of the next episode. So, when it turned out that 8.20 was a goddamn djinn episode, I threw up my hands because what the hell? How does that happen? And then forgot about it.
> 
> Then I stumbled across it going through some of my half-finished stories today and decided to finish it off because I haven't written anything in a long while and I feel like I'm getting rusty. (And I really liked it before I realized it'd be lame to post right after the show did a djinn storyline.)  
> 


End file.
